A Time for Truths
by EstelRaca
Summary: Phoenix and Thalassa finally decide it's time to tell Trucy and Apollo about their familial relationships. Maya and Athena help pick up the pieces afterward. Post Dual Destinies.


**Author's Note:** This was written for RonnieSilverlake, who wanted to see Thalassa finally telling her children who she is.

 _A Time for Truths_

Thalassa corners him outside the men's restroom at the hospital.

Phoenix is drying his hands off on his pants, and at first he tries to walk around the human obstruction in his path without actually looking too closely at the woman. In his defense, Phoenix is rather distracted by the fact that Apollo has almost died twice in less than a day, and Thalassa looks nothing like she has the other times he's seen her.

She is in street clothes—could be mistaken for anyone, and Phoenix hasn't actually met her in person all that often. It isn't until she steps back into his path and places a hand in the center of his chest that Phoenix realizes who she is.

For a moment he simply stares at her—at the unadorned blue blouse and dark slacks she is wearing, at the purse thrown over one shoulder. Her blue-gray eyes study him, direct, searching, and he stares back at her, anger churning hotter and hotter as he does.

"Apollo..." Thalassa's voice cracks on the name, and her whole body seems to shudder as she draws a deeper breath. "They wouldn't tell me... because I'm not listed as immediate family... is he...?"

The anger doesn't fade away entirely. It has spent too long building these last twenty-four hours, since Phoenix sent Thalassa a text telling her that Apollo had been injured in the courtroom explosion. But pity and exhaustion rise up to overwhelm the anger, and Phoenix sighs before answering. "He's going to be just fine. Things were a little bit dicey for a while, but he didn't sustain any severe injuries in the bombing, and the doctors are saying now that other than amnesia around the actual event he shouldn't have any lasting problems from being bludgeoned into unconsciousness."

"From being..." Thalassa's hand draws back, fists in front of her heart. "You didn't say anything about—"

"Because it just happened this morning. The bombing was yesterday, and he was incredibly brave and incredibly strong during it and he's damn _lucky_ he didn't get more than some banged-up arms. Not even any broken bones, just some bruises and cuts that they've bandaged. But today..." Apparently Phoenix was wrong, and he isn't too tired to maintain his anger, because it flares into furious life again. "Today somebody decided to take a hunk of concrete and try to bash his head in, because almost losing him once wasn't bad enough. Apollo almost died twice in a little over twenty-four hours."

And the only reason Thalassa knows is because Phoenix told her.

Phoenix watches Thalassa's face pale, watches her fingers turn white-knuckled as she stares at him. "I'm sorry."

" _Sorry_." Phoenix barely bites back a laugh, and he can feel the anger crawling through his veins like a caged beast, feeding on all the fear that has come before. "Your _son_ could have _died_. He could have died _twice_. And he never would have known that he even _has_ a mother, let alone a mother who would _care_ that he could have died."

Thalassa stares down at the ground, her shoulders hunched, her hands both clasped in front of her chest now. A penitent, a saint waiting for martyring, and Phoenix has to turn away, draw deep, gasping breath after deep gasping breath. He doesn't _need_ this right now. There are two different cases that the Agency needs to be focusing on—cases that are important and personal to people he cares about. He _has_ to save Solomon Starbuck and Juniper Woods; he will accept nothing less, not when Athena and Apollo are counting on him.

Except that isn't the _only_ thing he's worried about, shouldn't really even be his _priority_ right now.

Simon Blackquill is going to _die_ in three days, if Phoenix and Miles don't manage to find some break in the Phantom case. An innocent man will die for a murder that he didn't commit, and the true culprit—the man who maybe, if history is repeating itself, killed Clay Terran—will disappear into the ether.

 _Now_ is not the time for him to have to deal with Thalassa.

Now is not the time for _Apollo_ to have to deal with Thalassa, and Phoenix shivers as he remembers the anger and the aching grief that have vied for control of Apollo when he's actually been _conscious_ over the last two days.

And yet Thalassa is standing before him. Thalassa _needed_ to know, to hear that her son had been hurt, and Phoenix doesn't regret telling her, even though it's one more complication he desperately wishes he wasn't having to deal with right now.

"Thalassa..." Phoenix forces his voice to be calm and quiet. He doesn't want to draw Trucy or Athena's attention, have Trucy wondering why Lamiroir is here in the hospital where Apollo is being treated, have Athena hear all the tangled emotions in his voice with regard to this woman. "You told me you were going to tell them."

"I did. I _planned_ on it." Thalassa's hands twine together, her gaze dropping to the floor. "And I still want to. Still intend to. I just... I haven't found the proper time and place to do so."

"You're afraid, and because you're afraid you're putting it off." He intends to make the words an accusation, but there is more tired exhaustion than real heat in them.

He understands being afraid.

After all, _he's_ known for just as long as Thalassa has, and he hasn't told them, either.

It's a nice convenient excuse for him, respecting Thalassa's wishes. When Trucy calls him Daddy, and warmth spreads all through him but also a tiny spark of fear that maybe, just maybe, she would want to go with her true mother, he can tell himself that it's Thalassa's decision not to have told them. When Apollo joins them for game night or for a movie, Phoenix can pretend that Trucy is really his, that Apollo is, by blood, also his, and that no one could swoop in and take them away.

Which is a silly fear, really. Trucy has treated him like her true father since the day he adopted her (though sometimes that makes the fear worse, because Trucy is a frighteningly good actor, and if it was a self-preservation act to start with...).

"And when do you think I should tell them, Mr. Wright?" Thalassa's eyes meet his, and her lips twitch into a wry, bitter smile. "Now? When Apollo has been through something so traumatic?"

She doesn't know the first thing about what Apollo has been through. He almost snaps out the words, and hates himself for that impulse. The anger that wants to lash out is a response to the fear and helplessness he feels—helplessness like he hasn't felt in years. In eight years, really, though he knows that _now_ is nothing like _then_ , knows that even though he feels overwhelmed and lost right now it _will not_ go the same ways things did back then. He won't _let_ it, and neither will all the people fighting with him.

People that include Trucy and Apollo.

People who deserve to know the truth, and it was Thalassa's choice not to tell them yet, but Phoenix hasn't been pushing for it like he should, either. They are both to blame for Thalassa being an absence in the life of her children rather than an active presence.

And even if Thalassa were a part of their lives, she wouldn't know all that Apollo is facing. She simply wouldn't have seen what Phoenix has seen. She wouldn't have seen Apollo pick up the phone when Mr. Starbuck called from the detention center. She wouldn't have seen the way his whole body tensed as soon as he recognized the voice. She wouldn't have seen the way Apollo froze, no muscle moving; the way his pupils dilated to twice their normal size; the way he bit his lip so hard Phoenix thought it would bleed, but his voice was steady when he told the man on the other end of the phone to stay calm, he would be there soon.

Those memories are Phoenix's privilege and burden both, and he will use the information he gleaned from them, though he knows it is woefully incomplete. "No. Not now. He's not in any state to handle something like this now. But choose a date, Thalassa. Choose a time and a place, and let's finish this before we end up _here_ again, both of us wondering how we let it get to this point."

"One month, then." Thalassa squares her shoulders, raises her chin, and Phoenix recognizes the look of someone who is preparing to perform for a group of difficult judges. "In one month, at your agency, I'll tell them. If you think of some reason I shouldn't, get in touch with me before then. If you don't... like you said, it's past time they knew."

"It is." He knows that it is. He knows that it will be better, for all of them, if the truth is out. And yet there is a little thrill of relief, still, that it will be another month before he has to deal with it.

"Thank you for calling me." Thalassa inclines her head. "And for telling me that he's all right. I've never been any sort of mother to him, I know, but... it means a lot to me. Knowing that he's safe. Knowing that he has people looking out for him."

"He does." Phoenix smiles, for the first time in what feels like a long time. It has been the best thing, really, about the last day—watching Apollo's friends and acquaintances rally about him, though there had been pain, too, in watching Apollo flounder in seeming confusion about their concern and affection both. "He always will. But he should have a mother, too."

"One month from today." Thalassa's voice wavers, just the tiniest bit, though her eyes don't as she meets Phoenix's gaze. "I'll see you then, Phoenix Wright."

Phoenix doesn't say anything more as she walks away, back towards the hospital entrance.

A month is a long time from now, after all, and the next few days are going to be incredibly busy.

XXX

Apollo knows that something's up as soon as he walks into the office after lunch.

The morning had been slow, easy-going, and Apollo hadn't protested when Trucy demanded he take her out for lunch before she went crazy. When they left Athena was working on documentation for her last case, and Phoenix was fiddling with something on his desk. There had been no tension, though perhaps Mr. Wright had been a little bit quieter and more distant than usual.

Now Phoenix is waiting in the reception area, lounging against the closed door to the office proper. He is in his suit, and he waves a hand in flippant greeting when Apollo walks into the room, but there is strain showing in thin lines around his eyes, and his gaze flicks from Apollo to Trucy and back again.

A new case?

No, Apollo knows how Phoenix looks when they have a new case. Unless this case is deeply personal, it's something else.

Apollo forces himself to take long, slow, calming breaths. It has been just over a month since Clay died, and his mind no longer _immediately_ goes to worst-case scenarios, but the most distressing options still have a tendency to hover near the forefront of the possibilities that leap to mind in situations like this.

"Daddy?" Trucy eyes her father suspiciously, arms crossed in front of her chest. "What's going on?"

"There's someone here who wants to speak to you and Apollo, Trucy. About something important." Phoenix runs a hand back over his hair. "It's not anything bad—no one's died or anything like that. But it's... well. I should probably just stop stalling and let her tell you. Come on, kids."

Phoenix opens the door he is leaning against as though it contained some monster from mythology—a griffin, a dragon, a harpy, something with teeth and claws that would love nothing more than to rend and tear all of them.

Trucy has taken Apollo's hand, and she pulls him forward into the office, Apollo's feet stumbling slightly as they try to decide whether they really want to move or not.

It has been over a month, and he is _fine_ , really, but sometimes Apollo still feels more... _brittle_ than he was before the Phantom case. Less able to handle unexpected turns, and if this is something that's making _Phoenix Wright_ nervous...

Nothing has changed in the office since he and Trucy went to lunch. There are still bits of Trucy's magic shows scattered everywhere. Phoenix's desk is still a cluttered mess. The case files that Apollo makes sure to keep meticulously organized are still right where they should be.

The only thing that has changed is the presence of a woman in the center of the room—a woman somewhere in her late thirties, with brown hair and gray-blue eyes, and after a moment of searching his memory Apollo realizes why she looks strangely familiar.

" _Lamiroir_?" Trucy beats him to the punch, a mixture of relief and confusion in her voice. "That was an awful lot of build-up for just Lamiroir, Daddy. Though it's good to see you! Are you here for another concert? Or visiting Machi? He seemed to be doing as well as can be expected, the last time Apollo and I saw him..."

Trucy's voice trails off when Lamiroir just sits staring helplessly from Trucy to Apollo.

"Lamiroir..." Phoenix's voice is soft, his expression sympathetic, but Lamiroir still jumps as though his words were a gunshot, her eyes darting to him.

Her _eyes_ darting to him, _looking_ at him, and Apollo finds his jaw dropping in astonishment. "You can _see_? You went through with the surgery?"

"I did." There is far more gratitude than Apollo thinks is really warranted in Lamiroir's eyes when she turns to him. "Because of you and Trucy, I've recovered not only my sight, but my memory. The two of you, your brilliant team—you've changed my life in more ways than I can possibly say."

"That's fantastic!" Apollo grins, though the expression falters after a second or so. If Lamiroir just wanted to come thank them, then why is the tension in the room still so thick that it feels like he could reach out and grab it? Was this not what Phoenix meant when he said that there was something important the singer had to tell them?

Lamiroir draws a deep breath. "One of the things I recovered with my memory was my name. My true name, before I was Lamiroir, before I was a resident of Borginia. I was born here, in this country. I was born Thalassa Gramarye."

"Gramarye..." Apollo is glad, for the first time, that Trucy has a tendency to grab him by the hand and drag him places. It means that her fingers are already twined with his—means that he can pull her suddenly-rigid body back against him, hug her tightly. "Troupe Gramarye's Thalassa Gramarye?"

"Yes." Lamiroir— _Thalassa—_ smiles, though it is a tired, worn, _uncertain_ expression as she studies Trucy. "I'm your mother, Trucy. But more than that..."

And Thalassa's eyes track upwards, pierce through Apollo, pinning him in place as she says the next, impossible, implacable truth.

"I'm your mother, too, Apollo."

No tightening of his bracelet.

No tells, saying that the words passing her lips aren't true.

It's something he dreamed of hearing, once. It's something he thinks every abandoned orphan dreams about. It's what happens in all the fairytales, after all, all the children's stories. If they are just good enough, just _worthy_ enough, it will turn out that they are not unwanted, not unloved. A king or a queen—or an internationally renowned singer—will one day show up and say it was all a mistake, or part of some great scheme to protect the heir, and life will never be the same again.

Except Apollo knows that isn't true. Apollo figured out that story was wrong by the time he was ten years old. No one would come to rescue him, to claim him. He had to claim _himself_ , to say that he was _fine_ and make it so, be smart and strong and stubborn enough that no one could make it _untrue_ , even in the shadow world that belonged to the unwanted children in the overburdened foster system.

But now Lamiroir is here, and the words she is saying are words that a much younger Apollo once dreamed of hearing, and it doesn't make any _sense_.

Apollo's eyes run frantically over the woman sitting on the couch, looking for... for what? For something of him, in her eyes and her mouth and her hands? For something that he can latch on to as objective proof that this woman—a woman he _saved—_ is the mother who abandoned him?

His eyes catch on her bracelet. It is displayed openly, today, Thalassa wearing a simple sleeveless off-white blouse and black slacks. The gold glints against the black of her pants, and he finds the free fingers of his left hand tightening, reaching up helplessly toward the band around his own wrist.

The band given to him by his mother, the one thing he has from the family that couldn't keep him.

(Didn't _want_ to keep him, he has thought in his darkest times. Knew that he was a magnet for trouble, too loud, too stubborn, too dedicated to truth and justice, and so the only things they gave him were a god's name and a too-big bracelet that he never, ever left behind.)

"You're..." Trucy recovers her powers of speech before him, though her hands are both gripping Apollo's as though he were the only thing keeping her in place. "You're my mother? _And_ Apollo's mother?"

"Yes." Thalassa's voice falters on the word, and her eyes dart pleadingly to Phoenix.

Phoenix is leaning against his desk, his arms crossed in front of his chest, but there is nothing relaxed about the stance. He is watching Lamiroir as he answers Trucy's question. "She's your mother, Trucy, as well as being Apollo's mother. The two of you are half-siblings."

"Half-siblings?" The word sounds strange coming out of Apollo's mouth—too breathy, too high-pitched. "We're—Trucy's my _sister_?"

"Apollo's my _brother_." Trucy tilts her head back, staring at Apollo in open-mouthed shock. Even as Apollo watches, though, the shock morphs into something else—something _happy_. "Polly's my brother. You're my real brother—my blood brother!"

Trucy's arms wrap around Apollo's chest, hug him tight, and her face is buried against his shoulder.

It shouldn't hurt, really. Trucy is clearly absolutely _thrilled_ that they're blood relatives. A part of Apollo even understands. He has always wondered what it would be like, to have real family—to have the type of relationships that people in school, at college, at the courthouse have, siblings that you can complain about but that you never abandon.

He has thought, sometimes, that maybe Trucy and he have that kind of relationship. He has wondered if the way Trucy teases him is maybe the way siblings would tease each other. After the series of debacles that has been the last eighteen months, the way Trucy welcomed him back with tearful abandon after his betrayal of them, Apollo had thought that maybe she loved him like a sister would love a brother, _almost_ unconditionally. (Maybe unconditionally, if one is capable of love, because Apollo isn't sure if Klavier still cares for his brother.)

Now the word _real_ hangs over those memories, though, and Apollo pats Trucy's back, tries to return her bright eager grin, but all he can seem to feel is numbness.

"Apollo..." Thalassa stands, takes a step closer.

Apollo doesn't mean to tense. He just doesn't know what to _do_ , what he's supposed to be thinking or feeling or saying, and so he tenses as he looks up at Lamiroir—at Thalassa Gramarye.

At his _mother_.

Trucy whips back around, one hand finding his again and giving it a gentle squeeze. "Our mother. You're our mother. That's... wow. That is... really big news. It must have been... huge, realizing you had kids."

"It was." Thalassa's smile is grateful as she looks down at Trucy. "I was... terrified, honestly, when I first figured it out. You both had seemed so happy, and I didn't know how to tell you. How to approach you."

"Just like this." Apollo forces his voice not to waver, and then forces himself not to wince at the volume of it. "That's pretty much the only way."

"True enough." Thalassa's eyes drop to her hands, still clenched in front of her. "I eventually realized that, too. When you were hurt, Apollo... I realized how much it would hurt me if you never knew, and—"

"Wait." Apollo holds up a hand. "What do you mean, when I was hurt?"

Thalassa hesitates, her eyes flicking towards Phoenix again. "Last month. The bombing and the... other incident."

 _Other incident_.

Apollo forces himself to draw a long breath, tries to count to ten. _Other incident_. Is that better or worse than _Phantom incident_? He doesn't know, because he hates them both. He hates _every_ common way of referring to the horror and agony that had been Clay's death and Starbuck's trial and Athena's trial. That hatred has nothing to do with Thalassa, and anger isn't going to help him right now, though it would be frighteningly easy to give in to the temptation to let rage override all other emotions—has been frighteningly easy ever since Clay died. "You've known for over a month?"

"I've know for a little over a year, actually." Thalassa's hands are twined together, her fingers pale, the only sign she gives of tension. "Ever since the end of the Misham trial."

For a moment the words don't make sense. They _should_ make sense. The Misham trial had been all that anyone wanted to talk to him about for six weeks last year, before the press became distracted by Miles Edgeworth's dramatic return and ascension to the Chief Prosecutor's position. Why should it come as a shock that Thalassa, too, would be interested in the Misham trial?

Except she's _known_ since then.

She knew he was her child.

She could have _told_ him, over a year ago, and she _didn't_.

(He never had a chance to talk to Clay about this, to tell Clay that against all the odds Apollo _does_ have a family, not just the strange pseudo-family of the Wright Anything Agency that Clay couldn't seem to hear enough stories about but a _real_ family, and there is that damn _word_ again, ruining _everything_.)

Why should it surprise him, though, that she wouldn't want to tell him? Trucy she lost due to a tragic accident, when she lost her sight and her memory, but Apollo she didn't _want_. Apollo she gave away, surrendered without even leaving a last name, and _of course_ she wouldn't want to tell him.

But there is someone _else_ who should have, if Apollo is putting the pieces together properly.

"Mr. Wright." Apollo is surprised at how cold and controlled his own voice sounds. "You knew?"

Phoenix straightens. "I actually had it figured out shortly before Thalassa did. I made sure that she knew—"

"You _knew_ , for over a year, and you didn't _tell_ me. Us." Apollo's voice trembles and shakes, and the rage is a cloud across his vision, a distance between himself and everyone else in the room. "You _lied_ to us."

It shouldn't surprise him, really. Phoenix Wright has never wanted to trust Apollo with the truth. He has _used_ Apollo, because he finds Apollo entertaining and because Apollo was in a good position to be used, but why tell a tool more than it needs to be told?

Why concern himself with the fact that Apollo _hates_ , now more than ever before, being lied to?

"Polly—" Trucy's hands are locked around his right arm, but Apollo takes a step back, and her hold loosens.

It's easy enough to brush her the rest of the way off with his left hand.

His _mother_ stands frozen—the mother he never had, the mother he had thought he stopped wanting a long time ago. The mother who _still_ didn't want him, even after he saved her, and he isn't thinking clearly.

He needs to get out of here, before he says something he'll regret— _does_ something he'll regret.

He needs to have some time to get the anger under control, before—

"Be reasonable, Apollo." Phoenix's voice is gently chastising, and he is resting against his desk still, his hands in his pockets. "The important thing is that she's here now, and you can—"

"I quit." The words echo and re-echo in the confines of the office. He doesn't mean it, he wants to say, but he watches the way Phoenix pales, the way his eyebrows draw in together, and his heart beats just a little faster, pounding poison (anger fear _hurt_ oh god he didn't think he could _hurt_ this much again) through his body with each beat. "I'm done being lied to and distrusted. I quit."

He doesn't give Phoenix time to argue with him—doesn't give _Trucy_ time to argue with him.

He doesn't give himself time to think, to let the rational part of his mind realize what a stupid, _idiotic_ thing he's doing.

He grabs his jacket and sprints to the door, pure animal need to get _away_ guiding and quickening his steps.

Sometimes it just isn't possible to be reasonable.

XXX

"Get out."

"Trucy—" Phoenix reaches for his daughter—no, for _Thalassa's_ daughter.

"Shut _up_ , Daddy." Trucy's words are a whip-crack, more icy anger than Phoenix has ever heard in her tone as she whirls around to face him. (But she called him Daddy, still, and somehow that makes everything better, makes some of the panic that Apollo running out had summoned fade away.) "I'm super mad at you, too, but first _she's_ getting _out_."

"Tru—"

"It's all right, Mr. Wright." Thalassa collects her purse from the couch, her back rigidly straight, her expression very carefully neutral. "You have my number. If either of them ever wishes to contact me—"

Trucy snorts. " _Why_ would we want to do that?"

Because Thalassa is their mother. Because Phoenix never wanted things to turn out like _this_ , but he doesn't know what to do to _fix_ it, and since the last time he opened his mouth he made things worse perhaps it will be better if he is silent.

Thalassa studies Trucy for a moment, her eyes wide and hurt, but she doesn't bother saying anything more, eventually sweeping past her daughter and out into the hall.

Well.

This has been an absolutely spectacular failure, even by his standards.

He doesn't understand exactly where everything went wrong. He knew that this would be a difficult meeting, but for Apollo to _explode_ like he did...

"When Athena comes back, I'm going to Polly's place." Trucy doesn't look at him, her eyes drilling a hole in the floor where Apollo was standing just minutes before.

Would things be different, if they had been able to catch Apollo?

Would things be different, if they had done this a year ago, instead of waiting until they all bore more scars?

He's certain that Apollo didn't _actually_ mean what he said. Apollo wouldn't actually quit. Apollo wouldn't just walk out on them, without a backward glance. He's too close to them for that.

Right?

"Truc—"

"No." Trucy moves over to the couch, still not looking at him. "I don't want to talk to you."

"But—"

"Go _away_." Trucy finally faces him, a viper-fast movement, and Phoenix wishes she hadn't. There is so much raw grief and fear on her face, and it is, somehow, at least partly his fault. "Please, Daddy, just... just go away for a little bit, all right?"

"All right." Phoenix holds up his hands in surrender, backing toward the door, though each step seems to score a new bleeding line on his heart. "I'll send Athena in when she gets back."

Trucy nods, her head turned away again.

Phoenix closes the door to the office behind him, praying that his back-up plan will go better than his initial one did.

There is some small consolation to be found in the fact that it couldn't very well go any _worse_ , at least.

XXX

"—and that's how Nick developed a crippling fear of—whoa there!"

Thalassa stumbles, trying to work her way around the two women that she can _hear_ but not _see_ on the sidewalk.

Strange, how quickly she's come to rely on sight again. She moved for years without having her eyesight, could once have found her way all around the Wright Anything Agency offices and building after one tour. Would she have been stumbling, a year ago, just because there are tears blurring her vision into a haze of muted colors? What has she given up, regaining her sight?

What nebulous what-ifs has she lost, telling the truth to her children now, too soon and too late?

The woman she was just about to run into hasn't moved out of her way. Instead she grabs Thalassa, a hand on each arm, and stares pointedly into her face.

"Oh no." The woman sighs. "How badly did it go?"

"Huh?" The blurry patch of red and yellow next to the woman holding Thalassa makes the enquiring noise. "You know this person, Mystic Maya?"

"I do. Athena Cykes, this is Thalassa Gramarye. Thalassa, this is Athena Cykes. I'm Maya Fey, a friend of both your children."

Thalassa blinks her eyes until she can see the woman clearly—the flowing robes that look like something from a different time period, the raven-black hair, the expressive face that is currently frowning. "You... you know...?"

"Nick told me, when the two of you chose a time. He wanted to have more hands on deck if things went poorly." Maya sighs again. "I take it they went poorly?"

"Well." Thalassa tilts her head, a smile that she doesn't really feel flitting across her face. "Apollo has apparently quit his job, and Trucy kicked me out of the office."

"Ouch." Maya winces. "Athena, why don't you head on up to the office and see what you can do for damage control? Thalassa, you and I are going to go have a little discussion over some tea."

"But—"

"No buts." Maya doesn't release Thalassa's left arm, turning her determinedly towards the street. "Athena, text me when you're ready for us, all right?"

"R... right!" Athena snaps out a little salute, though her eyes are wide with confusion and disbelief as she looks between Thalassa and Maya. "I'll make sure to keep you updated."

And with that the red-haired woman is gone, sprinting up the stairs to the office.

Thalassa hopes that Athena will have better luck talking with Trucy and Apollo than she did, though she strongly suspects no one will be able to fix the mess that their relationships have become.

XXX

Trucy turns the lights off in the office, and then curls into the far corner of the couch, something she hasn't done since she was... ten? Eleven?

A long time ago, whenever it was. She can't even _remember_ what the fight she and Phoenix Wright had was about, but she remembers the way she snapped at him. She remembers the fear that had risen as soon as the anger faded enough, the certainty she had that the man she called _daddy_ was going to send her away.

He didn't, though. He never did, no matter how ridiculous or trying Trucy was. He has been a _good_ father... better, in many ways, than her biological father. Certainly a better father than he had to be, given what her family did to him, and Trucy curls into a tighter ball, wishing that he could hug her now like he did then and tell her that everything will be all right.

Apollo wasn't lying.

Apollo said he was _quitting_ , and he wasn't lying.

The older brother she has loved dearly since Phoenix found him for her is _really_ her brother, is her brother by _blood_ , and because of that he's going to leave forever.

She doesn't understand why he's so angry. He has been angry a lot, lately, and she has learned to accept it—has hoped that it will fade, as time passes and the wounds that Clay Terran's death dealt him heal.

Now it seems they won't fade fast enough, and _she_ wasn't smart enough or fast enough to stop Apollo from hurting all of them.

The door creaks open, slowly, and Trucy hisses out a warning that she doesn't really feel. She _told_ Daddy—Mr. Wright—to stay away, but if he wants to talk...

"Trucy?"

It isn't her father's voice, though. It's Athena, and before Trucy knows quite what she intends to do she has sprung off the couch and flung herself at the older woman.

"Oh, Trucy." Athena hugs her, tight, Athena's arms somehow both gentle and strong at the same time. She doesn't say anything more—doesn't say any platitudes about how everything is going to be all right. Athena's always good about that, waiting until she knows what's going on before she says something that might not be true.

"Polly left." Trucy's voice shakes, and there are tears running down her face despite her best efforts. "Daddy lied to us for a year and Polly got really mad and he _left_. He said he quit and he wasn't lying and—and—"

"Okay." Athena's fingers trail through Trucy's hair, brush gently through it over and over again. "It'll be okay, Trucy. Tell me one thing at a time and we'll get it sorted out."

"My _mom_." The word feels strange in her mouth, not quite fitting. "My mom's _alive_. I thought she was dead, my grandpa told _everyone_ she was dead, told my first Daddy and my first uncle that she was dead, but she _wasn't_. And she came here, today, to tell me she's alive, and also... also she's Apollo's mom. And she's _known_ , and my Daddy's known, for over a _year_ , but they didn't _tell_ us."

"That's a little bit more than one thing, Trucy." Athena's voice has a gently teasing edge to it, and she smiles as she guides Trucy back over to the couch, settles them both down on it. Athena's arm stays across Trucy's shoulders, and Trucy curls her body into the side of the older woman.

"Right. One thing at a time." Trucy draws a shuddering, sobbing breath, trying to break down everything that's happened in the last half hour into comprehensible, not-quite-so-terrifying chunks. "My mom's _alive_."

"And that's something you're both very happy about..." Athena's fingers ghost over Widget, her head cocked to one side. "And... scared about?"

"I'm not _scared_." Trucy pulls back from Athena, scrubbing a hand across her face, knowing that she won't be able to remove all the evidence of tears even as she tries to.

"It's all right to be scared about it, you know." Athena lets Trucy sit up, transfers the arm that had been across Trucy's shoulders to her lap, the fingers of both hands twining together. "That's something _huge_. Something monumental, finding your biological family."

"I didn't even know she was _lost_. I thought... he wanted us to think..." Trucy draws a shuddering breath, shivers running up and down her arms. Leaning her head back against Athena's shoulder, she forces herself to continue, though her voice sounds too small and distant. "I have pictures. Of me and my first Daddy and my Uncle Valant at my mom's funeral. I don't remember it, I was super little, but..."

"It's frightening, finding out that something you thought was true wasn't." Athena takes one of Trucy's hands in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Finding out that someone you trusted was a liar."

Trucy bites her lip, and she thinks that perhaps Athena was right. Perhaps she _did_ hear fear in Trucy's voice before—fear not just because of what Thalassa means for the future, but fear of what she means about the past. "He wasn't... a very nice man. My grandpa. He sent his own _daughter_ away. She was hurt and she didn't remember and he sent her to a foreign country and _abandoned_ her."

"Trucy—"

"Just like my real Daddy left me with Mr. Wright, and Lamiroir—Thalassa—abandoned Apollo and I guess Uncle Valant didn't abandon anyone, he just tried to frame them for _murder_." Trucy's hands are clenched into tight fists, Athena's fingers trapped between hers. "I _loved_ Troupe Gramarye, I was so happy there, Athena, but they're _awful_ people, they did _awful_ things, and... and..."

"And it's all right to have good memories of people who do awful things." Athena's voice is quiet, so soft that Trucy has to sit still and focus if she wants to be able to make out the words. "You know that, right? You've seen enough of our friends and family dealing with that."

Trucy bites her lip before nodding. "Yeah. I know."

Athena smiles, her thumb running over the back of Trucy's hand. "When Klavier's sad because of Kristoph, what do we tell him?"

"That it's all right for him to be sad." Trucy whispers out the words. "That even though Kristoph was an awful person, he wasn't always an awful brother, and it doesn't make Klavier a bad person to be sad about losing that."

Athena nods. "Any reason that shouldn't apply to you and Troupe Gramarye?"

"No." Trucy snuggles her face down on Athena's shoulder. "It's a lot easier to say it than to believe it, though."

"I know." Athena's free hand strokes through Trucy's hair again. "It's perfectly fine for you to be upset about everything that happened. To be sad and frustrated as well as happy. But if you start getting too sad, tell one of us, so we can help."

"I will. If I don't you'll hear it, anyway, and Uncle Edgeworth will get upset, and it'll just be even more of a mess than it already is." Trucy sighs.

"Your Uncle Edgeworth just cares about everyone's mental health. It's a good thing." Athena's hand pauses. "Is that the only thing about your mom being alive that's got you scared?"

"No." Trucy closes her eyes. She would lie, but Athena would know, anyway, and maybe Athena can tell her something that will make this fear go away. Athena is a lawyer, after all. "She... she couldn't make me go with her, right? Take me to Borginia or somewhere else?"

"No, she can't." Athena's voice is sure and certain. "Mr. Wright's adoption was quite legal. Given that it was a medical condition that kept her from taking care of you, she might be able to file for some kind of joint custody, but you're old enough that I'm sure they'd factor in your desires. She can't make you leave if you don't want to."

"And I don't. This is my home." Trucy's hands both tighten, holding on to Athena as though Athena represented everything—the city, Apollo, Phoenix Wright, Miles Edgeworth, Maya and Pearl Fey, Klavier Gavin, her gigs as a magician. Her _life_ , the life that she _loves_ , and where does her _mother_ fit into that picture? "I wouldn't mind getting to know her. Learning about her. But I won't leave here."

"We won't let anyone make you." Athena places one finger beneath Trucy's chin, raising it so that they're eye to eye. Then she grins. "You'd have three of the best attorneys currently working defending you. No one's taking you anywhere you don't want to go."

"Okay." Trucy returns Athena's smile, though she can hear the strain in her own voice. She _believes_ Athena, and that belief lifts a weight in her chest, but the number _three_ brings another crashing down in its place. "Though... I don't know if Apollo would help us with that. He _left_ , 'Thena. Apollo said that he _quit_ and he _left_ and I couldn't _s-stop_ him."

Trucy bursts into tears again, liquid flowing down her face despite every attempt she makes to stop it. It shouldn't _bother_ her like this. She knows where Apollo lives. She knows that she'll be able to find him, and he can't _really_ have meant everything he said, but what if he _did_?

What if she's lost her big brother, the best big brother anyone could want, simply because someone had to go and say they're really half-siblings?

"Trucy, hey, shhh, everything's going to be all right."

"He can't leave." The words come out stuttered, staccato shots through chattering teeth. "He can't. She just gave us a way to _keep_ him, to really keep him, and instead he's leaving like everyone else leaves and—and—"

She should be stronger than this. She should be _better_ than this. She knows how to control her emotions, how to show people only what they want to see. It's the creed that both magicians and attorneys live by—smile even when you don't feel like it, because the clients are depending on you to be confident and certain. She shouldn't be reduced to a shivering, hyperventilating wreck by a few words.

Except he wasn't _lying_.

He said he was leaving, and he wasn't lying.

" _Trucy_." Athena cups Trucy's face between both hands, holding Trucy still, forcing her to meet her eyes. "He's not leaving. We're not going to let him. All right?"

Not lying.

Trucy's eyes run instinctively up and down Athena's body. She might not have the bracelet that Apollo has, but if she knows when to look or knows someone well, it's very difficult for them to lie to her.

"He w-won't—" She can't finish the sentence. If she does, she will start sobbing again, her tenuous grasp on emotional control shattered.

"He's hurt."

" _Again._ " Widget flares red as the little robot makes the announcement.

Athena's cheeks flush, and one hand moves to cover Widget.

A giggle slips out of Trucy's mouth, startling them both. Drawing a deep breath, Trucy settles back on the couch. "It's all right. You're right. He said it when he was angry. He said it because he was hurt, _again_. I wish things would stop hurting him. Stop hurting everyone we love."

"I know. Me, too." Athena takes Trucy's hands again, their fingers lightly clasped, Widget glowing a light purple. "I think our little group, collectively, needs a vacation from the world. A month-long trip, somewhere far away. On a beach somewhere."

"It would have to be with no other people." Trucy sniffles. "Because if other people are around, they'll end up either dying and we'll have to solve their murder, or somehow they'll be horribly related to one of us. A secret evil sibling—or, like, Hitler reincarnated as a long-lost twin to one of us. Something like that."

Now it is Athena who giggles, the sound strained but holding at least some legitimate humor. "That does seem to be the way that our luck runs. Do you know... could you tell what, exactly, about your mother... his mother... what it was that hurt Apollo so much?"

Trucy bites down on her lip, replaying the encounter with Thalassa Gramarye as clearly as she can. Trying not to let her mind dwell on the depths of fury and agony in Apollo's voice as he stared at Daddy. "I think... I think it was two things. He was... really uncertain about Lamiroir. About Thalassa. About... about our mom. I didn't know she ever had another child. We're half-siblings, and there were never any photographs or mention or _anything_ about Thalassa having another kid. But that wasn't..."

She has to pause, to close her eyes, to compose herself for a moment as she remembers when Apollo's expression... _broke_ , the hesitance giving way to something darker and deeper.

"It's okay, Trucy." Again Athena squeezes her hands. "I just need to know as much as I can, so we can go help him."

"Daddy knew." Trucy opens her eyes, meeting Athena's evenly, her own jaw clenching in a pale reflection of the rage that boiled off Apollo. "Daddy knew for over a year, and he didn't say anything. _That's_ when Apollo got really mad. Because they lied to us."

Athena sighs, her eyes closing, but not before Trucy can see a hint of tears in them.

"I'm sorry, 'Thena." Trucy hugs the older woman, remembering abruptly how intense Athena's reading of other's emotions can be. Remembering times when Athena has had to excuse herself, to go take a walk, to put on headphones with blaring music to cover the sounds of other people's hurts and fears. "I'm okay, really. I'll go talk to Apollo, and everything will be all right."

" _We'll_ go talk to Apollo, and I do think everything will be all right." Athena returns Trucy's hug with equal enthusiasm. "I wish they hadn't lied to the two of you—that's... not going to be easy for Apollo to forgive. But _you_ didn't do anything wrong, and I think Apollo will recognize that and let us at least talk to him for a little bit, try to get things sorted out."

"They didn't _really_ lie." Trucy looks down as she says the words. "They just... knew for a really long time and didn't say anything."

"A lie of omission." Once more Athena uses her finger to raise Trucy's chin so they are studying each other. "Do _you_ feel like you've been lied to?"

"...Yes."

"Then Apollo will feel the same way, too. And someone lying to him is really the last thing Apollo needs right now. At least it should help that the reason he _knows_ they lied to him is that they're finally telling you guys the truth." Athena stands, holding out a hand for Trucy to take. "Ready to go help your brother, Trucy?"

Trucy takes Athena's hand, hauling herself up, willing her arms and legs not to feel like jelly despite her earlier crying fits. "Let's go catch the Pollywog and save him from himself."

XXX

Thalassa stares down into her tea cup, watching the play of the lights and the reflections of the fan blades chase shimmering patterns over the surface.

"So." Maya Fey smiles, the younger woman relaxing back in the booth as though she's been in this little cafe many times before. As though she _belongs_ here, though she looks like someone who stepped out of a storybook, and Thalassa wishes she felt like that _anywhere_.

It has been a long time since she felt like she belonged.

A long time since she was _herself_ , without layers of secrets wrapped around her, and the loss of her protective lies somehow makes her skin feel exposed and fragile.

"You're Trucy _and_ Apollo's mom, huh?" Maya takes a dainty sip from her glass as she asks the question.

"I am." Thalassa raises her head so that she can watch the woman across from her—watch for any tells, any signs of falsehood, though her bracelet has stayed quiescent on her arm since Maya abducted her. "I was under the impression that Phoenix wasn't going to tell anyone else."

"He didn't. Not until you told him you were coming into town this morning. That was... two days ago now, right?"

Not lying, and Thalassa feels a knot inside release a bit. She had _thought_ she could trust Phoenix, and knowing that he hasn't been babbling her secrets to all and sundry makes her feel at least a bit better. "Yes. You said... he wanted you to be here as back-up?"

"Yep. When Nick feels that something has the potential to blow up in his face and doubts his ability to handle it if it does, he tends to go to either me or Miles Edgeworth or both of us. I'm not sure if he told Edgeworth about your... visit or not."

"Visit." Thalassa chuckles, though the idea of feeling mirth or joy at the moment seems alien. "That's a very... kind way to phrase it. I wish I had just been coming for a visit. Instead I came to tell them something that I knew could disrupt all of our lives."

"Lots of things can cause a disruption without being awful, you know. And... well." Maya looks down, her mouth twisting into a different kind of smile.

A sad, slightly bitter, knowing smile, and Thalassa finds herself automatically touching the bracelet on her wrist, though Maya has still said nothing that could be construed remotely as a lie.

"My mom left me and my sister when we were little." Maya raises her head, and though her voice is calm, almost serene, there is a haunted look to her eyes. "There was a scandal. She thought she was protecting us, or she thought she didn't _deserve_ us, I don't know. But I didn't ever get to see her as my _mother_ again. Just as a corpse."

Thalassa's breath catches in her throat, memories from a month ago swarming up—of frantically finding the first flight she could, no matter how roundabout it was, of sleepless hours staring at arrival and departure boards in strange airports, of _terror_ , sheer unreasonable terror that her son would die before he even knew who she _was_. "Was it... do you wish you had gotten a chance to meet her again? Even though she abandoned you? Is that something that you would have _wanted_?"

"More than anything else in the world." Maya sighs. "I wish I had gotten a chance to sit down with her and with my sister and just... talk. Just tell each other everything we didn't when we were alive. I wish I'd gotten a chance to hear from her own lips why she did what she did. Especially because... well, it gets complicated from there. Less relevant to our current situation."

"He's so _angry_." Thalassa's fingers tighten around her tea cup, leaving slick finger-tracts when they slip. "Apollo. I just wanted to _tell_ him, and I've... I've ruined what he has. He had made himself a _family_ , and I broke it."

"No, you didn't. What Apollo has with Nick and Trucy—and Athena and a half-dozen other people you probably don't know—that's not something that can be shattered with just a few angry words." Maya's hand reaches out, her fingers ghosting gently against Thalassa's. "And yes, Apollo's angry. Apollo's been furious at the world for the last few months, because it's hellishly unfair. Because no matter how much he fights, and how much he wins, sometimes the price just seems far too high. I've... been angry like he is. I didn't lash out quite as much as he does, but there were times, especially after my mother died... the fact that he's angry isn't your fault."

"It is." A smile twitches the right corner of Thalassa's mouth. "He's angry because he knows that I abandoned him. That I kept Trucy and I abandoned him, and then once I remembered I didn't tell them for far too long."

Maya makes a considering noise low in her throat. "Was there a reason you didn't tell them?"

"Lots of reasons. Lots of excuses that seemed very reasonable at the time but now, looking back on them..." Thalassa forces herself to release her tea cup, before she tests the boundaries of its resistance to crushing force. "Right after the Misham trial... they had already been through so much. They were going to go through more. I thought I would just give them some time. And then I was back in Borginia, or on tour, and months were slipping by... I thought about it, every time I saw them in the news. When the Nine-Tales Vale incident happened. When the Themis Academy scandals broke. But it never seemed _right_ , to come and drop all of... _me_ on them when they had other things to worry about. So I kept putting it off."

Maya nods. "What made you decide to tell them now?"

"Phoenix contacted me. When Apollo was hospitalized." Thalassa closes her eyes, and it is better, in some ways. The world in darkness is the world of Lamiroir, the singer whose greatest crime is hiding her blindness from her audience. "And we both realized, he and I, that we couldn't let things continue on like they had. He told me to pick a date. I chose a month from then. And then I didn't let myself change it, because if I _did_... well, we would probably be right back where we started."

"I'm glad you did. And I think they'll be glad, too, given enough time." Maya takes a long sip of her tea. "If you don't mind my asking... was there a reason you didn't keep Apollo?"

"There always is, isn't there?" Thalassa's arms wrap around her chest, hug herself tightly. Strange, how much something can hurt after decades. "I was nineteen. I loved a man that my father didn't approve of. I went off with him, and we started a family. It wasn't a glamorous life, but we were happy. I thought we'd be happy forever, but forever only lasts a year, apparently."

Maya gives a sympathetic grimace. "He left?"

"In the most permanent way." Thalassa closes her eyes, trying to picture Apollo's father. She can't anymore, not really, though she sees haunting echoes in Apollo's eyes, in the line of his cheek. "He died. I tried, for a few months, to handle everything, but my father... he wouldn't help. He said he would take me back, any time I wanted, but that Apollo wasn't... he wasn't a Gramarye. That he had no place in the troupe."

She had just been so _tired_.

Too tired to cry, even, when the nurse took the squirming bundle from her arms. She _tried_ , so hard, but she was _alone_ , and Apollo cried so _loudly_ and she couldn't _sleep_ and really she wasn't much more than a child herself...

He didn't cry, when they took him away. He sucked determinedly on the bracelet that she had slipped into his wrap, red gums against the gold of an inheritance he would never understand, and watched her with dark eyes that seemed to accuse her then even as they accused her this afternoon.

She could forget, for periods of time, when she was with the troupe. When she was with Zak and Valant and her father praised her, told her that she was everything he could have asked for, she could forget that somewhere out there was a child who shared her blood but not her name.

She could forget, with how _different_ it was when they had Trucy, when her father held the baby girl and _smiled_ and told her that the next generation of the Gramaryes was beautiful. She could forget third-rate apartments and budgets that didn't quite balance and the kind eyes of another man who loved her, though her father didn't approve, pretend it was all a dream.

And then she forgot _everything_ , not just Apollo but Trucy and the troupe and all that she had ever been.

Though even in her forgetting, there were parts that remained unchanged. Even without her memory, without her vision, without her name, she somehow gravitated to the stage and performance. Made a better living for herself than she ever had with the troupe, and she wonders if her father ever saw any of that success and regretted his decisions.

Probably not. He died too soon, before Lamiroir's star had really risen.

"He _said_ that?" There is outrage in Maya's voice, a sputtering rage that takes Thalassa by surprise, and when she opens her eyes the woman across from her is openly fuming. "How could he _say_ that? Deny his own grandson? Turn you away when you needed him? Most people in my village say all men are worthless pigs, but _that_... if he weren't dead, I'd give him a piece of my mind."

"He probably wouldn't have accepted it." Thalassa forces her arms to uncross, trembling fingers to reach for the teacup in front of her. "My father... had his own idea of how the world should work, and very rarely accepted anyone else's input."

"Your father was an ass. He almost had one of his students convicted of murder, he ruined people's lives for the sake of a _performance—_ " Maya draws a deep breath, visibly forcing herself to be calm. "But he's not here. You are. You _did_ try to reach out to them. To _both_ of them."

"They're my _children_." Thalassa stares down into her tea again, the words a whisper. When did that become so important? If she _hadn't_ lost her memory, if she hadn't been Lamiroir for years, would she so desperately want to see acceptance rather than anger and hurt in their eyes?

"So _tell_ them that." Maya's hand falls across the top of Thalassa's cup, forcing Thalassa's eyes up to meet hers. "Explain to them everything that's happened. Tell them why you did what you did. Tell them what you want."

"What I want..." Thalassa gives a choked laugh, shaking her head. "I don't even _know_ what I want."

Maya narrows her eyes. "You want them to know, right?"

"Yes." Thalassa whispers the word. "I want... I want to get to know them. I want them to get to know _me_. I want... a family again."

"Well, they come with an awful lot of that." A smile spreads over Maya's face, bright, open, infectious. "You really get to know those kids of yours, get involved in their lives, you'll find that they've formed a rather beautiful and eclectic family all their own. Is that something that you can accept?"

"Does it matter if I can or not?" Thalassa shrugs. "I think they made it perfectly clear that they don't want anything to do with me."

"I think they made it perfectly clear that they're hurt. They've both..." Maya turns her own tea cup in a slow circle. "They don't like being lied to. Having things kept from them. They've both been hurt that way before, badly. But you're trying. You're reaching out to them. Give them a little bit of time. I think you'll be surprised by how amazing and forgiving they can be. While we wait, though... how about splitting a pie with me?"

Thalassa blinks at the woman, certain she's heard wrong. "Excuse me?"

"I _could_ possibly just eat the whole pie by myself, but I probably shouldn't and it would be rude to eat in front of you without at least offering. So how about we split a pie? I'll even let you choose the flavor."

Maya Fey is crazy.

Thalassa has allowed herself to be taken off by a crazy woman.

A crazy woman who has been surprisingly kind and understanding.

A crazy woman who knows Thalassa's children far better than Thalassa herself does right now.

A crazy woman who wants to split a pie with her, and what does Thalassa really have to lose now, anyway? "How does cherry sound?"

Maya grins. "Sounds absolutely fantastic."

XXX

He fucked up.

 _Oh yes you did, little wolverine._ Clay's voice sounds in Apollo's head, still, just like it has since they became best friends.

It does not, however, tell him anything that he doesn't already know.

He left his bike at the Agency, not stopping for anything or anyone once he took off running. He _did_ have his wallet in his jacket, so he could have tried to hop on public transportation, but the idea of being trapped in close confines with strangers had been distinctly unappealing.

So instead he ran until he couldn't breathe anymore, his chest and throat on fire. Then he spent five minutes bent double on a park bench, panting, too physically wrung out for the emotions to catch up.

Then he walked.

And walked.

And walked.

And now he's almost home, has been running over what happened at the Agency for far too long, but he still has no idea what he's going to _do_.

He doesn't want to quit. He really doesn't. His job can be infuriating, and he's fairly certain Phoenix Wright keeps it that way at least _partially_ by intent, but he loves it. He's _good_ at it. He _trusts_ the people he works with.

Or did trust them, before today.

His right hand moves to his bracelet, traces the engravings on it over and over again as he conjures a picture of the matching bracelet on Thalassa's arm.

Was he supposed to figure it out for himself? Did Phoenix Wright think that Apollo would be able to take the disparate pieces of the puzzle—Trucy's familiarity with Apollo's gift, Lamiroir's bracelet, Thalassa Gramarye's complicated life—and figure it out for himself? Was it a _test_ for Apollo, a test that he failed?

If it was, it wasn't a fair test. And how long did Wright intend to let him struggle with the pieces before telling him the truth?

Did he _ever_ intend to tell Apollo the truth?

Phoenix Wright isn't Kristoph Gavin. The fact that he sometimes uses Apollo as Kristoph used Apollo—as a pawn on a gameboard that he keeps Apollo's eyes carefully shrouded from—doesn't mean that he _thinks_ or _feels_ like Kristoph does. Apollo knows that, to the bottom of his heart and soul. Phoenix _cares_. Phoenix _believes_ , with a depth and intensity that had startled Apollo when he finally saw it through the cloud of misdirection and illusion that Phoenix learned to weave over the years—believes in truth, believes in justice, believes in _people_. Believes that people, working with the right system, will find the truth, and strive for justice, and he is the hero that Apollo admired, though made unfamiliar and taciturn by his experiences over the last decade.

How much is Apollo supposed to accept, though? How much is he supposed to forgive? Where does he draw the line between understandable and... and...

He can't even think of the proper word for this whole mess.

 _You'll be fine, Justice_. It is what he hears Clay say, most often. _You are and always will be just fine_.

He doesn't feel fine. He feels... _tired_. Worn out. Confused. Overwhelmed.

(Frightened, though he cannot admit that even to the ghost in his head. He doesn't like how easily he turns to anger, now, but he doesn't know what he can do to _stop_ it.)

There are two people waiting on the steps to his apartment. He recognizes both, though for a moment he can't quite make sense of them being here.

"Apollo!" Trucy jumps to her feet as soon as she sees him, takes a step forward, her hands outstretched, and then stops.

"Hey there, 'Pollo." Athena stands, too, her hands balanced on her hips. "You look exhausted."

"And sweaty." Trucy wrinkles her nose. "But I'm... still really glad to see you."

"Yeah?" Apollo draws a shaky breath, then continues up the steps toward his apartment, past Trucy and Athena. "Come on. We should probably have this conversation inside."

"Wherever you'd like." Athena smiles as she falls into step with him. "Thanks for inviting us in."

"Yeah, well, I can't just leave you sitting out here. If something happened to either of you, Mr. Wright..." Except he doesn't _care_ what Phoenix Wright would think. Phoenix Wright has lied to him, _again_ , about something _important_ , again. " _I_ would be upset."

Trucy's hand reaches out, slowly and tentatively, sliding into Apollo's.

Apollo wraps his fingers around hers, giving a little squeeze.

His apartment isn't much to write home about, but it's clean—cleaner than the office, at any rate. He doesn't feel much self-consciousness as Athena glances around, and he's reasonably certain neither of the women will run into any kind of mishap if they decide to sit on the couch. "Something to drink? Water? Juice?"

"I'll get us drinks." Trucy bounces into the kitchen with the ease of familiarity. "You go change. Water or beer for you?"

Apollo narrows his eyes at the girl—at his _sister_. "It's the middle of the day."

"Uh huh, but I feel like we all deserve a stiff drink or three." Trucy studies his expression, and then rolls her eyes. "Fine, water for everyone."

It feels strange, changing out of his suit in the middle of the day. _Wrong_ , somehow, as though he were doing something... inexcusable.

He _has_ technically quit, though, so it's not like Phoenix Wright can do anything more to him.

Not like there's much left, period, that could hurt him.

Though he knows that's not true. He wouldn't _be_ here, maybe-unemployed, with his half-sister and a friend-and-colleague waiting for him, if there weren't still things that could hurt him.

They knew. They knew for a _year_ , and they didn't say anything.

He settles down on the couch next to Trucy, picks up the water glass she clearly placed on the end table for him, and drinks half of it. Then he turns to face the young woman, and his stomach clenches up into a painful ball. "Trucy... did you... did you know? Any of it?"

" _No_." Loud, forceful, the word echoes off the walls, and Apollo feels a knot release inside him as his bracelet stays loose around his wrist.

That makes one person who hasn't betrayed him, then.

"Apollo..." Athena's tone is gently probing.

And that's all it takes for the anger to flare up again. _Ridiculous_ , really, _not helpful_ , and before he gives himself a chance to think about it he turns the water glass upside down over his own head.

Blinking to clear his vision, he finds himself meeting Trucy's eyes.

The corner of her lip twitches. Her throat contracts. And then his sister bursts into a series of half-hysterical giggles, her hands over her mouth.

Athena studies him from the other side of the couch, a half-smile on her face. "Still angry, huh?"

"Yeah." Apollo heaves a sigh, resisting the urge to settle back on the couch now that he's soaking wet. "But you two don't deserve it. And no, I'm not entirely certain if Mr. Wright and Thalassa do, but I can't seem to make it _stop_."

He sounds desperate, even to his own ears, and he has to close his eyes, to keep himself from flinching away from whatever Athena will have heard in his voice.

"It's all right to be angry, you know. Given everything I've heard, I think you'd have to be pretty inhuman _not_ to be angry." Athena's voice is quiet, contemplative.

Not pitying, and that lets Apollo open his eyes again, face both her and Trucy. "It just seems like... like I'm always on the verge of being angry, lately. And he should have _known_ , but he just told me to be _reasonable_ and... how are we supposed to be reasonable about this? We're family. We're _real family_ , and no one thought to tell us."

"Real..." Athena's hand brushes over Widget. "Apollo, the way you say that word... what do you mean by it?"

"I mean..." Apollo finds himself gesticulating with his empty water glass. "You know... _real_. Biological relatives. People others would designate as family. Real."

"People the law would designate as family?" Athena raises one eyebrow. "Because right now I believe that would be Mr. Wright for you, since he's got your medical power of attorney."

"Him and a half-dozen other people." Apollo mutters out the correction. He might have gone a _little_ bit crazy after Clay died and he _almost_ died, but he's fairly certain that _someone_ he trusts— _did_ trust, until this morning—will be able to look after him and his body should the worst happen. "And that's... not the same."

"There are as many ways to define family as there are cultures on this planet, Apollo." Athena's voice is firm, her eyes sharp and direct as she studies him. "Right now the dominant culture says that direct blood relationship—the nuclear family that our laws are built around—is what matters most. But that doesn't define what a real family is. Or do Simon and I not count as family?"

"You..." Apollo hesitates, trying to think of how to define the relationship between Simon Blackquill and Athena Cykes. "That's... different."

"It is. _Every_ individual relationship is different. But it's not blood that makes a relationship strong or not—though certainly society _accepting_ your relationship, accommodating it, makes it _easier_ to have a strong relationship." Athena points from him to Trucy. "The relationship the two of you have? That isn't changed by finding out you've actually got shared blood. You're still Apollo Justice and Trucy Wright. You're still a fantastic team. You're still family. So long as you look out for each other and take care of each other when times get tough, you're family."

"Just like Daddy... Mr. Wright..." Trucy chews thoughtfully on her lip. "I've said _real daddy_ before, to mean Zak Gramarye. But Daddy... Daddy's done more for me than pretty much anyone else in the world. So it's more like... _he's_ my real Daddy. Or... I _did_ get the rights to the Gramarye illusions from my first Daddy... can you have more than one real daddy?"

Athena lays a hand on Trucy's shoulder. "You can have more than one of anything, if that's what feels right."

Apollo shakes his head, spraying drops of water all over Trucy and earning a squeak of protest. "You're just making things _more_ confusing now, 'Thena, not less."

"Sorry." Athena shrugs, looking not the least bit penitent. "People are complicated, and that means human relationships are complicated—a hell of a lot more complicated than most people would like to admit."

"Yeah." Apollo gives a bitter smile. "So complicated that they couldn't even tell us for a year."

"That..." Athena winces, closing her eyes. "You're going to have to talk to Mr. Wright and Ms. Thalassa if you want to hear why they did that."

"Does it matter why? They still lied, no matter why they did it." Phoenix still betrayed him, _again_ , just when Apollo was beginning to think that maybe everything would be all right.

"I guess that depends." Athena runs her finger over the rim of her water glass. "Will it make a difference to you what they say? Could they give you reasons that would make things better... or worse? Or... do you want to leave things how they are?"

 _Do you really want to quit?_

Neither of them ask the question, though he can read it in their eyes, in the way Trucy's fingers clutch at him, in the way Athena's body tenses.

 _Go on, wolverine._ There is gentle chastisement in Clay's voice. _You go after the truth in court, no matter how painful or awkward. You going to let a little thing like pride stop you from chasing it here?_

"I don't want to quit." Apollo finds his voice thickening, has to stop and swallow and gulp down a handful of breaths before he can continue. "I just... I can't stand it. The thought of him keeping things from me. Again. _Still._ And _her_... she didn't _want_ me, when all I wanted was a family. Now that I'm _happy_ , now that I don't _need_ her... why's she have to come _now_? And isn't that _ridiculous_ , that I'm furious they didn't tell me _and_ furious that they told me? Talk about a contradiction."

"It doesn't sound like a contradiction at all. It just sounds... very human." Athena stands, moving around the couch so that she can lay a hand on Apollo's shoulder. "We're here for you, 'Pollo. Trucy and me, we're at your side no matter what you decide to do."

Trucy nods. "Though I do reserve the right to tell you if you're going to do something stupid. I'll just try to save you from it if you do it anyway."

Apollo stares at his sister—his _sister—_ and tries to make sense of the emotions bubbling up in his chest. "Athena—"

Athena's arms wrap around his neck, hug him from behind; Trucy lunges forward, hugging him tightly from the front.

"Joy." Athena whispers the word into his ear. "A cascade of humor and joy, because Trucy's funny as hell when she wants to be, because she's your _sister_ , by choice and by blood.

"Fear." A tightening of Athena's arms, a shudder to her voice. "Pulling the tones down, a minor chord tainting the major. Because you've been hurt too often, and you don't want to open yourself up to hurt again.

"Love." A caressing of the word, and Apollo thinks for a moment that he can _almost_ hear it the way Athena can, the way she's described it before, a _brightness_ and _light_ to the sound. "Because even with how often you've been hurt, even with everything you've been through, you _love_.

"And anger." Athena's arms hugs him tight. "But that's all right. Because mainly it's anger layered over hurt, trying to _protect_ against hurt, and your real family doesn't have any problem helping you with either of those."

"I think you're cheating." Apollo's voice is hoarse still. "I don't think you got all of that from my last few sentences."

"Maybe not _all_ of it, but enough of it." Athena pats him on the head as she straightens back up. "So. What would you like to do?"

"Hide under the bed for a week." Apollo holds up a hand to forestall any protests from either woman. "But that wouldn't very smart, financially or I'm guessing psychologically. Plus it would probably just result in the strangest group ever collecting in my hallway. So instead... well. Let's go put your theories to the test, Athena. Let's see how much family's able to forgive, in whatever definitions of the words we want to use."

XXX

They come back.

All of them, together, and Phoenix didn't understand exactly how terrified he was that they _wouldn't_ until he sees them standing in the lobby and has to lean against the wall for support.

Apollo has changed clothes, is in a red hoodie and black jeans. It's rare for Apollo to wear street clothes even to game night, and Phoenix finds himself staring more than he probably should. What does it _mean_ , though? Does it mean that Apollo really intends to follow through on his threat?

Have they managed to break things that badly, trying to set them right?

"Mr. Wright." Apollo's jaw is tight with tension, and his hand is white-knuckled where it grips Trucy's. "I think... we need to talk. All of us."

The last is said with a quick, pleading glance at Athena.

Athena smiles gently. "I'm honored to stay, if you guys really want me to."

Trucy grabs Athena's hand with her free one, holding it just as tightly as she's holding Apollo's. "You're part of this family too, 'Thena. Besides, I might need help keeping my promise to keep Apollo from saying or doing something stupid."

Phoenix bites the inside of his cheek, keeping all of the snarky remarks and the hesitant laughter that his daughter's quip brings locked inside his head. He's already hurt Apollo enough today. If he doesn't want to ruin everything (to really, truly lose the young man he has come to care deeply about), he needs to watch his tongue. "Well. Why don't we go sit down in the office for a few minutes, then."

The three of them take the couch, Apollo sandwiched between the two women. Phoenix rolls his chair out from behind his desk, settling down in it facing them.

A prisoner before the tribunal that will decide his fate, and it's probably a good thing that he's a defense attorney, because he's fairly certain they weren't going to provide him with one.

"Is something funny?" A muscle twitches in Apollo's jaw, and his eyes are bloodshot and raw, just as they were in the days following Clay Terran's death.

"No." Any trace of levity dies as Phoenix studies the young man—studies Trucy, huddled next to him, her eyes wary and uncertain, too, watching Phoenix as though he were dangerous. As though she doesn't know him, can't _trust_ him, and there is absolutely nothing funny about this situation. "I'm sorry, Apollo. Trucy. About... everything."

"No, you're not." Trucy shakes her head. "Because not everything was bad. _Most_ things weren't bad. Most things've been _good_."

"Why didn't you _tell_ us?" Apollo's voice cracks, and something in Phoenix's chest seems to break along with it.

"I didn't want to hurt you." His gaze slides from Apollo to Trucy and back, a never-ending circuit. He cannot lie to them—he can stretch the truth, he can _hide_ the truth, he can run them in circles trying to put together the pieces of the full truth from myriad little splinters, but he can't lie to them. They will _know_ that every word he says is truth, and maybe that will give him enough of a chance to salvage this. "Once I figured it out... I thought Thalassa should know first. So I made sure she did. And she asked me not to tell the two of you, to wait until she found the proper time and place."

"To wait for over a _year_." So much bitterness in Apollo's voice, but no psyche-locks, no hiding of his pain or the reason for it. That is better, at least, than times in the past.

"I didn't push her to tell you like I should have." Phoenix draws a deep breath. Now or never. They will either repair what they had crafted, name it and save it, or they will fracture it forever. "I was happy with how things were. I've... having you as my daughter, Trucy, has been one of the best things in my life."

"And, what?" Trucy studies him, exasperation dripping from her words. "Did you think that if my mom came back, that would be it?"

"I..." Phoenix shrugs, closing his eyes. "I didn't know what would happen, exactly, but I knew... I knew it would change things."

"It changes things for me and Lamiroir. Me and my mother." Trucy gives Apollo's hand a quick squeeze, and then bounces up, crossing to stand in front of Phoenix. "And knowing Polly's my brother... that just makes me really excited. But you're my _daddy_. You've taken care of me for eight years now, and no matter who else comes back or what else happens, I'm always going to be your daughter." She takes his hands, nibbling quietly at her bottom lip for a moment. "Unless... you don't want me to be?"

"No, Trucy." Pulling his daughter in for a hug, Phoenix blinks back a wave of unexpected tears. "You're my girl. Always and forever."

"Which means that Polly's your boy, right?" Trucy pulls back, fixing him with a stern expression. "So you need to stop lying to him. To us, really, but especially to him."

"I know." Phoenix draws a deep breath again, the room feeling too small, too tight. Except that looking past Trucy to where Apollo sits like a rigid statue on the couch, it seems that the distance between them is too large, insurmountable. "I am sorry, Apollo. I didn't mean to lie to you or to keep this from you for so long."

"Really?" The challenge in Apollo's voice takes Phoenix by surprise. "Because this isn't the first time, Mr. Wright. It's not even the second. You didn't tell Trucy and I anything about the Misham case until the very last moment. All right, fine, that was personal, you had spent seven years trying to set up the Jurist System and take down Kristoph. I... could accept that. But then you _knew_ things about the Phantom—knew things about how Clay might have died. You were working with Mr. Edgeworth, and you didn't tell us _anything_. And now... our mother's alive. Trucy and I are _related—_ which means in some really weird way _you and I_ are related. And you keep it a secret."

Phoenix winces, opening his mouth to counter Apollo's accusations... and finding that he can't.

Has he really kept so many secrets from them?

Has he really trusted them so little?

Trucy has retreated back to Apollo's side, is looking between the two of them with wide, wary eyes.

"I... honestly didn't mean to keep so much from you. I just..." Phoenix studies his hands, frowning, trying to find words that will justify the inexcusable. "I got used to working alone, or mostly alone. I got used to finding ways to change the system when I couldn't make it work—ways of playing the system. I showed you that, the very first time we met."

Apollo nods, slowly. "When you goaded me into punching you."

"Yeah." Phoenix smiles, the expression feeling thin and stretched. "No better way to let you know I wasn't the man you remembered from the stories. And I guess... I never really stopped thinking that way. I _do_ trust the three of you. But I've done a pretty damn poor job demonstrating that. If I were in your position... I'd probably want to punch me again."

"That's it?" Apollo's eyebrows arch up. "No trying to justify it? No trying to convince me it was for the best?"

"No." Phoenix shakes his head, and he is _tired_ , again. So very tired of fighting, when even victories have a tendency to blow up in his face, and what would be the point of trying to convince Apollo of something that Phoenix himself doesn't believe? "It wasn't for the best. I should have trusted you about the Phantom case. The Chief Prosecutor gave me discretion to share information with whoever I felt needed it, and I didn't use that discretion very well. And Thalassa and I _should_ have told the two of you as soon as we found out, no matter how awkward or painful that would have been. But we didn't. And I'm sorry."

Apollo nods, his tongue running over his lips briefly. "Is it going to happen again? Are you going to keep secrets from us again?"

"I don't know." Phoenix shrugs. "I'm not psychic."

"Precognitive." Trucy whispers the correction. "Uncle Edgeworth says seeing the future is precognition."

"Not that, either. I make mistakes." Phoenix smiles ruefully. "But I try not to keep making the same ones. I will _try_ , very hard, not to keep things from you. Not to lie to you."

Apollo's fingers trace over the edge of his bracelet. Confirming that Phoenix isn't lying? Hopefully, though for one terrified moment Phoenix wonders if he could lie without meaning to.

"I guess that's pretty much all that I could ask for." Apollo gives a decisive nod. "So... where do we go from here?"

"Well... first things first... I _am_ sorry, to both of you." Phoenix offers Apollo a tentative smile. "And I would very much like you to keep working for me, if you could accept that."

"Right. Well. Who said anything about quitting?" Apollo pokes Trucy in the side. "Did you hear anything about anyone quitting?"

"Nope." Trucy shakes her head. "Definitely didn't hear anything. Plus wouldn't you need something like that in writing?"

"Uh huh." Athena runs a hand across her face, wiping away the traces of tears, and for a moment Phoenix envies her. What did she hear in that conversation, in their voices, to bring a smile to her face and tears to her eyes? "Definitely not legal if there's no documentation. I'm actually pretty certain the saying is that if it isn't written down it didn't happen."

"So, boss." Apollo's smile is strained, and his eyes still have more of a haunted, wary look about them than Phoenix ever wanted to see, but he _is_ smiling. He's _here_ , with his sister, and he's _smiling_. "What next?"

XXX

Thalassa hesitates outside the office door, until a shove from Maya Fey gives her the forward momentum needed to cross the threshold.

Phoenix, Maya, and Athena are waiting outside, leaving just Thalassa and her two children—her children who are not children anymore, not really. Her children who have solved murders and changed the world—changed _her_ world, multiple times, and it is only her stage training that keeps her from turning and running.

They said they wanted to speak with her.

They invited her back.

"Trucy." Thalassa's eyes track from the young woman to the man beside her. "Apollo. Thank you, for agreeing to see me again. I know—"

"No, you don't." Apollo shakes his head, and there is a smoldering vestige still of rage in his voice, though his expression is far more welcoming than it had been before. "You _don't_ know us, not really. You knew Trucy, a little bit, back when she was a baby, but that was a long time ago. And we don't really know you."

"Well, we know _some_ things." Trucy smiles, her hands clasped behind her back. "We know that you're an amazing singer. We know that you were a good friend to Machi, which means you could be a good friend for other people."

"We know you're good at keeping secrets." Again the bitter vestiges of anger cloud Apollo's voice, but Trucy's hand brushes against his elbow, and it fades before he continues. "But I'm sure there's a lot more to you than that."

"Just like there's a lot more to us than what you've seen." Trucy hooks her arm through Apollo's. "Apollo and I don't _need_ you. We've got a family already—a really big, really great family."

"I'm a little old to suddenly have a mother, anyway." Apollo studies the ground at Thalassa's feet. "But... that doesn't mean we can't... get to know each other. Try to..."

"See where you could fit in with our family." Trucy's smile is bright, but she doesn't move from Apollo's side. "If that's something that you'd like."

"That..." Thalassa draws a breath that is more like a sob, and has to close her eyes for a moment. "That's all I could ever have asked for. All I wanted from the two of you."

"Great!" Trucy's smile is wide and bright, and she looks between Apollo and Thalassa. "So... where do we start?"

"How about we start with a getting-to-know-you tea?" Thalassa smiles tentatively at the two children. "I happen to know a place that makes a wonderful cherry pie..."

XXX

Thalassa pauses on the small house's porch, double checking the address. There are far more cars parked up and down the street than she expected, especially given the fact that she's fairly certain Phoenix and Apollo don't have cars. Or at least don't drive regularly.

The door opens while she's still busy squinting between the numbers Phoenix scrawled on a scrap of paper for her and the number nailed in a crooked line beside the door when it opens, disgorging Trucy amidst a blast of warm air and delicious smells. Trucy's face is lit by a bright grin, and she grabs one of Thalassa's hands in both of hers. "You came!"

"I told you that I would, didn't I?" Thalassa returns her daughter's greeting, trying not to feel awkward as Trucy drags her forward, into the warmth of the house.

She has been exchanging e-mails with Trucy and Apollo regularly for the last two weeks. She is, she thinks, starting to get a feel for the adults that her children have become. She had been beyond thrilled when Trucy asked if she wanted to come to game night with them, knowing from previous discussions that Trucy considers it the highlight of the week unless there is a big case that they are working on.

Thalassa just hadn't expected there to be so many _people_ here.

Some she recognizes. She has seen Chief Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth in the news frequently over the last year, and she returns his aristocratic nod of greeting with one of her own. Others her ears are more familiar with than her eyes, though she _has_ seen Klavier Gavin—watched him through a small camera as his world fell to pieces around him. He watches her now with a guarded expression, stalking protectively from Apollo to Trucy, clearly not entirely comfortable with her presence.

Clearly worried for her children, and Thalassa smiles to see that, even as her heart aches to see the vibrant, cheerful young man she knew made wary by experience.

Athena is chatting with two other young women in a corner of the room, one in a lab coat, the other in what looks to be a school uniform. A monster of a man with a bandage across his left cheek pushes his way into the room from the kitchen, a wisp of a woman with short black hair following after him.

Phoenix Wright sits at the head of a long table, a chess board in front of him. A _hawk_ sits on the table opposite him, looking for all the world as though it's studying the board, intending to make a move.

"Welcome to game night." Trucy grins up at Thalassa. "Welcome to my family."

Thalassa returns Trucy's smile, squeezing her daughter's hand, thinking that perhaps, just perhaps, things might work out all right after all. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be, Trucy."

Trucy's grin takes on a more mischievous edge. "We'll see how long you keep saying that."

Thalassa allows her daughter to pull her into the mass of colorful characters, hoping that maybe, possibly, after far too long, she's come home.


End file.
